These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.

The day has been delightful. I was out before six and made the fields my oratory, the sun shining bright and warm as at midsummer. I think my own devotions become more fervent when offered in this way amidst the general chorus with which all nature seems on such morning to be swelling the song of praise and thanksgiving.

William Wilberforce (inscribed on a stone
outside Canterbury Cathedral)